Murder in G Minor
by locopiccolo
Summary: An attack on a high school band director puts everyone on edge. Will the perpetrator be caught, or will the safety of the entire band and its directors be in jeopardy? Written by RyukoVulpix and locopiccolo.
1. Chapter One

This story is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

* * *

**--- Chapter One ---**

It was a dark and stormy night. The windows in the band room were moaning eerily. An army of ants could be seen crawling across the floor, finding small traces of pop and spit everywhere. For the most part, the band room was lifeless.

For the most part. In the office of the band director, Mr. Neller, a light could be seen. A single light in the midst of an abyss of darkness. This could mean only one thing. _He_ was back again.

Not Mr. Neller. No, Neller went home exactly twenty minutes after the end of the school day, and not one minute too soon. He was a very quirky man, reminiscent of one's grandfather. His eyes were a soft brown, and he had a patch of baldness slowly growing on the back of his head. He looked after his band students as though they were his own children.

The other band director, Mr. Veterson, was quite the opposite of Neller. He was rarely seen away from his office in the band room lounge, always giving a lesson or practicing his trombone. Veterson was part of a jazz band group in a club that performed weekly, as if by clockwork. He seemed to be a more angular man than old Mr. Neller, as was his manner toward the students. His attitude could be attributed to the fact that he taught the select members of the Wind Ensemble. The flame behind his pupils glowed mysteriously, differently from all of the other teachers at Surbandale High School. Nobody really knew what he was like. Nobody.

And at that particular moment, those mysterious eyes were glued upon the source of the single light… the eerie blue glow of a computer screen. Nimble fingers, well used to playing the day away upon any instrument under the sun, clicked away at the keyboard under the darkness of nightfall while Mozart's Symphony No. 25 hummed from the speakers on the desk. And should a very brave, or very stupid, person have dared to step into that office, they would have discovered a secret of secrets…

Suddenly, Veterson's eyes glanced up from the screen upon which they had been fixed. A noise, somewhere in the darkness, just audible above the music playing… His ears had been trained to detect the slightest tuning of a note; certainly, they were well able to detect the footsteps of an intruder! Slowly, silently, Veterson rose from the swiveling computer chair, and walked to the closed door of the office with all the stealth of an assassin. As he left the desk, he picked up a long, metal cleaning rod, just as a precaution. Placing a hand upon the cool, brass doorknob, he twisted it just lightly enough to slide the door open without a sound.

The scraggly gray carpet muffled his steps as the director made his way into the pitch-black band room lounge. The thought occurred to him that it was quite strange that anyone daring to enter the room would not have bothered to turn the lights on; what with the multitude of chairs and stands strewn across the floor, any stranger to the lounge would surely have collided with one in the darkness by now. Veterson's eyes, sharp from years of observing marching drills, scanned the darkness, the faint light from Neller's office his guide. Knowing the lounge's layout as well as the back of his own hand, Veterson stepped forth into the blackness…

Suddenly, a metallic flash! A cry in the night!

The next morning, Neller arrived at the school early and ready for work, only to discover a sight more ghastly than anything he had seen in thirty years of marching band.

Murder!


	2. Chapter Two

**--- Chapter Two ---**

Only the janitors heard his pitiful cry. It was then that they knew something terrible had happened. Never in all thirty years of Neller's career had they heard something so terrifying, so dreadful that it could only mean one of several things.

1. Vandalism

2. Heart Attack

3. Murder

4. Ants

The only sound echoing through the school was the beeping of walkie-talkies as the janitors called one another, directing everyone in the school to the source of the cry — the _band room lounge_.

The silence was deafening inside the lounge. Mr. Neller's occasional gasp or choke was the only soft, hushed sound in a room full of so little life. Neller didn't even bother to look up when the door clicked open. He just knelt down next to the body, confused and hurt. It was then that a scream pierced the air. It was then that the world knew. It was then that Veterson jerked awake from a deep sleep.

"What _happened_ to you, Veterson?!" Neller cried out in both relief and horror. Relieved that his longtime friend and co-director was, although battered and slightly bloody, very much alive. Horrified at the prospect of something, some_one_ in the school building, who could commit such a terrible act.

Veterson shook his head, then instantly regretted it as a throbbing headache started up. "I… I…" he mumbled, barely coherent.

"You what?" The small group of teachers and other staff looked up to see Mr. Gutchinson, the principal, stride toward the lounge. As he approached, even this intimidating man had to suck in a sharp breath upon seeing Veterson. Immediately, his first response was one of responsibility to his school: "Alert the police. There won't be school today."

Suddenly, Veterson was aware of something, still clenched in a death grip in his right hand. Looking down, he realized that he was grasping a metal cleaning rod.

"That's right," he mumbled aloud, so softly that the teachers had to lean closer to hear. "I-I picked this up, right after I heard the noise…"

"Noise? What noise?" Neller asked. "When was this?"

"Last night. I came back to do some more work," Veterson explained quietly. "Then I heard someone outside, and I went out to investigate…"

"Who was it?"

Veterson sighed. "I don't remember." The teachers around him also sighed in despair.

"Put the band room on lockdown," Neller instructed, keeping his head despite the situation. "Whoever did this may still be lurking around."

"Wait…" Veterson said slowly. "I… remember something else…"

"Hm?"

"…it was… a student, who attacked me…"


	3. Chapter Three

**--- Chapter Three ---**

"_What?_" Neller nearly choked as he tried to read Veterson's eyes and determine whether his co-director was serious about this accusation. "A student? You're sure?"

"Positive. I think it must've been a jazz band kid."

Neller shook his head in disbelief. "Why's that?"

"Whoever it was seemed to know the band room lounge well. There was a stand right in front of the door, and they didn't trip over it or anything else in the room."

"Oh, you mean that old broken stand?" Neller glanced sideways at a stand and a stack of chairs just clear of the lounge door. "Gosh, that's been there for…"

"…a long time, I know." Veterson sighed. He scarcely wanted to believe what he was telling Neller himself, but it all seemed so logical. "And since those jazz band kids are always practicing in here every morning…"

"…only they would know about it." Neller and Veterson had worked together for so many years that they could almost finish each other's thoughts and sentences. He was confident that Veterson spoke the truth. "No one else is that familiar with the lounge."

"Precisely. Um…"

"What is it?" Neller asked.

"I seem to remember that the student was shorter than me, as well." Thinking back, Veterson was fairly certain that this was a valid statement. The perpetrator's eyes were a few inches below his own, he'd thought. On the other hand, it had been quite dark… but it was the best description he had of his attacker.

"Really?" Neller stroked his chin thoughtfully. "How much shorter?"

"I'm not sure, exactly." Veterson rested his head in his hands and began massaging his eyes.

Just then, the door burst open. At first, the occupants of the lounge could not see who it was, for the antechamber to the band and chorus rooms remained dark.

"Hey Mr. Neller! I think I've lost my… _OMIGOSH!_"

It was one of the five Jazz Band One trumpet players, Yaitlin Malar. She was the only female trumpet in the entire trumpet section. Not only was she the lone girl, but she was one of the few smart trumpeters, besides the senior Trew Cavis.

"Wh-what happened?" Yaitlin stuttered, faint from shock and the sight of blood.

"Can't you see, girl!? We're trying to figure that out!"

"Oh, sorry. Um… I'll just go now."

"Not so fast, Malar. You aren't going anywhere."

"I'm sorry?"

"Don't move."

"What…?"

"You're short. You're in Jazz Band One. We must question you."

"I… Did I miss something?"

"The police will be here shortly. Until then, have a lollipop."

"Well… okay."

"Now, what did you lose?"

"My mute," Yaitlin said, biting her lip and taking a cherry lollipop. "I was practicing at home when I realized I didn't have it with me. I think I left it here in the lounge, so I came by early to look for it…" The teachers glanced around at each other. The story _sounded_ solid enough… but you never knew with these trumpet players.

All of a sudden, everyone turned as they heard a car noisily drive up outside. In only a matter of seconds, a few police and medical workers rushed into the building. Veterson was lifted up on a stretcher and taken out of the room, while the police sat Yaitlin down and Neller began to question her.

"Now… Do you know anything about what happened to Mr. Veterson?" Neller asked.

Yaitlin shook her head. "No. What _did_ happen?" she asked, still a bit shaken from what she'd seen.

"Hey, I'm asking the questions here," Neller said sharply. Yaitlin shut up. "Now then… tell the truth. Did you come back to the school yesterday after classes were over?"

"Well, yeah," Yaitlin said. "I came back to practice for a little bit. Maybe that's when I lost my mute. But I left at 4:30," she added.

"Were there people still in the band room when you left?"

"No… we all left at the same time," Yaitlin said. "We all went over to Karrad Littner's house to have pizza… his treat, since we did so well at the contest."

"Hm…" Now that he thought about it, Neller realized that Karrad had indeed written a large sign on the whiteboard announcing the party. Of course, high schoolers wouldn't care that such a party would be held on a school night. Go figure. Neller shook his head.

"How long did this party last?"

"Oh, jeez, well… until about eight, I guess," Yaitlin admitted. "It ran kind of long."

"Was everybody there?"

"Yeah… well… most people," Yaitlin said, counting in her head. "Some people couldn't make it, and then some people who aren't even in jazz band came, too… I don't really recall who came or not."

"Hm…" Neller mentally sighed. "Well, we'll have to keep you in touch. Don't skip town, all right?"

Yaitlin stared at him, a little confused. "Um… all right."

"We'll let you go now," one of the police officers said, finishing up some writing in a notebook.

"See you when school starts up again," Neller said. With that, Yaitlin went back out into the band room to use the telephone.

"So, where does this leave us?" Neller asked the police officer.

The police officer grunted. "Well, let's see. My colleagues and I have gathered information about you, Veterson, and Yaitlin Malar. Has anyone else been lurking around?"

Neller was uncertain. Had he seen anyone before he came upon this grotesque sight in the lounge?

"Um… Not that I know of. I don't remember—"

"_OUT! OUT, I SAYS!_"

A rough-looking detective approached, wearing a Stetson hat accompanied with a trench coat.

"_OUT!_"

"What's the big idea? We're only—"

"_LOOK, I CAN'T WORK MIRACLES HERE, CHUMS. YA'S TRAMPLIN' DA EVIDENCE, YA'S NIMRODS! GET OUT BEFORE ALLA YA'S TRASH DA PLACE._"

"All right. Keep your shirt on, Curley."

Neller and the police officer avoided the bloodstained carpet while obeying the detective's words. They moved into the band room.

"Who the heck was that?" Neller asked, glancing back towards the door with a look of confusion.

"Who, Curley? Don't worry about him. Ever since the incident, he's been a little off upstairs, if you know what I mean."

"I… I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about."

"Ever since that night, he's been crazy. That's when Curley got that strange accent, too."

"What night?"

"Oh, it doesn't matter," the police officer waved it off. "Just be warned… don't cross him," he said. Neller raised an eyebrow.

"O… kay…"

Just then, another police officer stepped out of the lounge door. He looked at Neller and said, "We've decided to run a DNA check on the area… it might lead us to a suspect." But suddenly, the police officer was met with a burst of laughter from Neller.

"Ha ha ha!" the director chuckled. "Good luck with that."

"Eh?"

"We've got jazz band, plus kids with lessons, in and out of there all the time."

"So?"

"That means, you've got about thirty-some kids dumping spit all over that carpet."

"What?!" The police officer made a disgusted face and glanced down at his shoes. Neller merely laughed.


	4. Chapter Four

**--- Chapter Four ---**

The sound of a woman's high heels clicking on the linoleum floor was echoing through the halls. The woman stopped. Everywhere she looked, the school was deserted. This was very odd. At 7:00 in the morning, the school was usually brimming with life.

She continued.

It appeared that this woman was in her early twenties. She was rather short, and proportionally sized for her height. Her hair was a light mahogany color, pulled back into a ponytail with a hair tie. Her eyes were brown, a twinkle of cheerfulness keeping them alight.

In this school, only the band kids knew her. She was a student teacher from a nearby college. Her term was nearly over; in a few weeks time, she would be leaving the school forever. At least, until the concert in January.

She turned a corner. Suddenly, she froze, foot still in midair.

"Hey, you! _YOU!_ What're you doing here? You'd better—"

"What happened?" A look of disbelief spread across the woman's face. Her astonishment must have caught the police officer off guard; he didn't finish his sentence.

"Follow me. We'll have to question you immediately. Please leave your bag outside the door and kindly hold your arms out parallel to the floor. We must search you."

Her mouth hanging open, the woman slowly lowered her foot and dropped her bag. She placed her arms out from her sides in a spread-eagle fashion, dumbfounded and confused.

As the officer pulled out a short stick that appeared to be a metal detector, the woman turned. Someone was coming. She held her breath, waiting for the worst. Her heart raced with anticipation, as well as her mind. What was happening? Surely, they didn't think she had done this, whatever it was?

As the man approached, she breathed a sigh of relief. It was Mr. Neller.

"It's okay, officer. Let me introduce you to Miss Molson."

"Molson, eh?" the police officer repeated. "So, what business do you have here? Didn't you get the message?"

"What message?" Miss Molson asked, eyes wide in confusion.

"Veterson was attacked last night," Neller said with a sigh. Miss Molson gasped.

"Who on earth would ever…?"

"We don't know who did it… and the attacker may still be in the building. You'd best go home. There's no school today." Neller shook his head and rubbed his temples, the stress obviously taking a toll on him.

"Isn't there anything I can do to help you out?" Molson asked, wringing her hands.

"Not much," the police officer said, walking toward the two band directors. "Do you have any idea of what might have provoked the attack?"

Neller shook his head. "Veterson's a good man, and one of the best directors in the district. He's plenty strict sometimes, but he's not real harsh with the students. They really like him… or at least, I thought so."

But Molson was thinking, biting her lip as she did so. "Mr. Neller…" she said slowly.

"…what about the chair auditions?"

"Hm? What's that?" the police officer asked.

"Chair auditions," Neller explained. "We have all of the kids perform for us, and then we set them in order of ability. It's how we choose who gets into the Wind Ensemble, too… oh, no…"

"You don't think…" Molson whispered.

"Molson," Neller said. "Go get the list of the students that Veterson listened to."


	5. Chapter Five

**--- Chapter Five ---**

"_FREEZE!_" A police officer sprinted down the hallway toward Molson, yelling at the top of his lungs. Molson had grasped the brass doorknob to get into the lounge.

"Look what you've done now, you idiot!"

"What?" Molson stared at the police officer innocently, tightening her hold on the doorknob.

"Don't you see? That was evidence! We were going to fingerprint that doorknob, and now it's ruined! Get off the premises now, before you cause any more trouble!"

"But I—"

"_GO._"

"Can't I—"

"_NOW._"

"But I have to get the audition—"

"Shut up! Shut up, shut up, _SHUT UP_, and leave already!" the police officer shrieked as he started spazzing, waving his trusty nightstick around in circles over his head. Molson's eyes widened as she stepped slowly away from the door, hands up. "Jeez! For the love of Pete, can't you people just _COOPERATE?!_" the police officer yelled.

"Okay, okay! Fine!" Molson yelled over the police officer's ever-increasingly wild shouts. "I'm leaving!"

"Oh! Good!" the police officer replied, suddenly calm and cheerful. Molson stared at him, and walked away very slowly…


	6. Chapter Six

**--- Chapter Six ---**

"…hello?"

Veterson looked up groggily from where he lay in the hospital bed. He'd been thoroughly checked over and deemed in good condition, aside from a few bumps, bruises, and cuts. However, the hospital had wanted him to stay a little longer, just so that they could "keep an eye on him." Not that he was missing anything. From what he'd heard, the entire school had gotten out for the day.

Darn. Veterson scowled. That meant another day of practice lost. For even in the hospital, the first thing on his mind was his precious, precious band. And anyway, it wasn't as if he had much else to do but worry over it.

But at this moment, his thoughts were suddenly cast away as two people stepped gingerly into the room, probably anticipating the worst, most terrible, gruesome image that their minds could come up with. After all, the husband, who was an English teacher at the school, was well known to be a movie fanatic, and had probably seen the most horrific, psychologically disturbing films that the Japanese culture could come up with. One came to mind, something about a well, a television, and a girl with long, scraggly hair out to kill people… ah, what was the title? Veterson gave it up — he wasn't much of a movie person.

The other, though, the wife — that one, he knew well. She was a fellow band director, a former student of Neller's, fairly talented in her profession and slightly creepy at times. She was in charge of the junior high band, teaching them to tune and parade march and all sorts of things that they seemed to conveniently forget as soon as they hit high school band camp. Oh, well. She did her best. And one couldn't overlook the fact that the skill level of the band had gone way up since she'd gotten her job with the younger kids.

Veterson sighed. It would be an interesting visit.

They were, after all, the Donsons.

"Is he conscious?" Mrs. Donson questioned quietly, nudging her husband gently in the ribs as he watched the television across from Veterson's bed.

"Hm? Oh, I dunno. Man, look at the reception they get here!"

"That's nice honey, but we're here to see Veterson!"

While the two of them argued, Veterson took the opportunity to clean himself up as best he could. As he looked down, he noticed that he was wearing one of those awful cotton hospital gowns. Blushing, he pulled the thin, scratchy bed sheets up as far as he could. Couldn't his taxes pay for something better than this?

"Veterson! You're awake!" Mrs. Donson exclaimed, dashing over to the side of Veterson's bed to embrace him with a friendly hug. "Neller just called me a little bit ago — we came as soon as we heard the news about the accident. I was so worried! What happened to you?"

"It was no accident, I'm afraid," Veterson replied, choosing his words carefully so as not to upset Mrs. Donson further. "I was attacked by someone late last night."

"What? Why were you at school so late?" Mr. Donson questioned, taking his eyes off the television for the first time since arriving at the hospital.

"Oh, just working on schedules and other band-related things," Veterson answered, averting his attention from the two people at his side. Veterson was suddenly reminded of what he had been working on before he'd heard the noise. A feeling of panic erupted in his chest. He hadn't shut down the program he'd been using before his attacker knocked him senseless! Now, everyone would know…


	7. Chapter Seven

**--- Chapter Seven ---**

Meanwhile, back at the band room—

The police and Mr. Neller were making their last rounds, trying to scrape up any last bit of evidence they could find. "I suppose that's about it," Neller said after their sixty-fourth time around the area.

"Yeah. We'll be back again tomorrow to do a more thorough investigation," one of the police officers said. (Neller vaguely wondered exactly how much more thorough they could get.) As they walked out the door, the police officer added, "Oh, yeah… and tell your kids to pick up their socks. The dogs were passing out."

"See you tomorrow," Neller said as he watched them leave. Sighing, he turned around and headed back toward the lounge. This whole thing was giving him a killer migraine — he'd have to go get an ice cream pretty soon…

But, just as he was about to pack up and leave, Neller saw a strange light coming from his office. Frowning, he walked toward it. Probably, one of the police officers turned something on and left it like that. Neller opened the door…

And there, completely oblivious to all around it, the computer was on! Its screensaver was flashing various colors merrily, like a Christmas tree turned up to the highest power possible. Neller grumbled a bit, knowing that the techies were going to get on his and Veterson's cases for not enabling the sleep mode. He shook the mouse a bit to wake it up…

Suddenly, Neller's eyes widened and his brows knit together. "What in the world…?" he murmured, staring at the open program.

Numbers. Lines and lines of numbers, and they definitely did _not_ look like marching drill. (Either that, or it was the weirdest drill Neller had ever seen in his thirty years of teaching.) No, it almost looked like they were in some sort of pattern… But what kind of pattern, Neller didn't know. He was a band instructor, not a math professor, after all.

Neller frowned. What kind of code was this? He quickly saved the document and, after thinking for a moment, reached for his cell phone…

Meanwhile, back at the hospital—

Mr. Donson yelped as his cell phone suddenly went off. The Mrs. glared at him, while Veterson rolled his eyes and hoped against hope that this was all a dream and that they'd be gone in the next three seconds.

"Yee'ello," Mr. Donson said into the cell phone.

"Hey, Donson? It's Neller. You've read 'The Da Vinci Code,' haven't you?"


	8. Chapter Eight

**--- Chapter Eight ---**

Molson walked slowly away from the high school band room in the direction of her car. All the while, she was thinking. Thinking about tedious little details that might've been overlooked…

She sighed. It was all so surreal. One moment, everyone was happily going about their business, teaching students and making lesson plans. The next thing she knew, it was all chaos. Veterson was in the hospital. Neller was close to having a nervous breakdown, whether he chose to admit it or not. She had been student teaching only the day before. Now everything had been turned completely upside down.

But it would all come to an end, sooner or later. She'd graduate from college in a few months, and find a job directing a band somewhere. With any luck, she might find a position right here in Surbandale. Yes, it was only a matter of time, she thought. If she played her cards right, it just might work out.

Molson threw her purse across the seat to the passenger side of the car and started up the engine. She turned up the radio and tried to relax, hoping that the anxiety bubbling up in her chest would die down with a few deep breaths.

It didn't.


	9. Chapter Nine

**--- Chapter Nine ---**

Mr. Donson whistled tunelessly as he walked into the west wing of the high school. "Have no fear, Donson is here!" he called as he pushed open the heavy door of the band room lounge. "Neller? Where are ya?" he said, wandering around the apparently empty rooms, opening one of the office doors and stepping in.

_FWAH!_ Mr. Donson jumped as the large, black leather chair just inside the door swiveled around in a flash, revealing Neller. The band director appeared as if he badly needed a good night's sleep. His eyes were red, his hands were shaking, and honestly, he looked as if he'd just seen a ghost. '_Hm… ghost…_' Mr. Donson started thinking about which Japanese horror movie he should have his students watch next, perhaps 'Dark Water,' but he shook his head and got back on topic.

"So, Neller, you called?"

"Yes, I did," Neller said shakily. "There's something here I think you should look at… You're good at numbers and codes and stuff, right?"

"Well, actually, I'm an English teacher."

"Ah, that'll work," Neller snorted. "Here…" The band director shoved the computer along the desk so that Mr. Donson could see it.

Mr. Donson took one look and whistled. "Whoa. That's a _LOT_ of numbers. Well, let's get cracking." At once, the two men got to work in an attempt to decipher Veterson's mysterious document. Well, almost at once.

"…hey, Neller?"

"Yeah?"

"Are you… okay?"

"Whatever do you mean?"

"I mean the shaking… the paleness… Are you sure you're all right? I could stay here and work on this, and you could go home."

"Hm? Oh, nothing's wrong," Neller laughed. "My blood sugar's just a little low. But I have the cure for that." The band director reached under his desk and pulled out… a box of Peeps.

"Ah. I see."

"…well, let's get to work!"


	10. Chapter Ten

**--- Chapter Ten ---**

Meanwhile, Mrs. Donson had been called back to the middle school to teach her band class. Of course, the school district, being led by all those terrific, caring people, who always kept the safety of the children first, would not let the other schools out for an attempted murder. It would have to be something more serious for _THAT_ to happen.

As Mrs. Donson got out of her car, she spotted another car pull up into the middle school parking lot. Ah, Miss Molson! Mrs. Donson smiled. At least she wouldn't have to face that horde of little brats — ah, wait, no, her wonderful, precious, there-weren't-any-better band class, alone.

"Hello!" Mrs. Donson called out. "How are you doing today, Miss Molson?"

Molson looked up as she got out of her car. Weakly, she managed a faint smile. "Fine, considering."

"Oh, Mr. Donson and I were just at the hospital, visiting Veterson. He's going to be all right, so don't you worry!" Mrs. Donson said cheerfully.

Molson nodded slowly. "I see. Well, that's just great," she said. "So, ready for class?"

The two women walked through the halls of the middle school toward the band room. Mrs. Donson set her purse down on the table in the band office and turned on her computer. Just then, she noticed her coffee cup sitting on the table, empty. "Oh, dear," Mrs. Donson said, picking the coffee cup up and peering sadly into it. "Hey, you," she said to Molson, "go get me some water. Capisce?"

"Yes, ma'am," Molson said happily, taking the cup and heading out into the hallway to find a water fountain.

Meanwhile, Mrs. Donson sat back on one of the band office chairs. Rid of that meddling — ah, wait, no, invaluable helper, she finally had a moment to think to herself.

Something, or somebody, had been after Veterson. Mrs. Donson bit her lip as she turned on iTunes, trying to find some music to help her think. What was there about Veterson that would make somebody come after him? He was a brass player, told bad jokes, was 'maritally challenged,' not to mention many other juicy details.

But the fact remained — he was a band director.

Mrs. Donson had a bad feeling about the whole situation.

"Here's your water, ma'am."

"Oh… yes, thank you, Miss Molson," Mrs. Donson said as she took the full coffee cup from Molson's hands and set it carefully back on the table. After standing awkwardly next to Donson's desk for several minutes, Molson took a seat on a piano bench some feet away.

She watched as Mrs. Donson prepared selections for the eighth grade band. "Is there anything else you need me to do, ma'am?"

Donson thought carefully for a moment, weighing her options. "It would be of most help if you could set up the chairs for the band. The kids will start coming in at eight o'clock."

"Do you have a seating chart, or…?"

Mrs. Donson scattered papers across her desk, searching for the sheet that dictated the specific number of stands and chairs needed for the band, as well as their placement. She handed it to Miss Molson. "Here you are. I'll have another task for you when you're finished."

"Yes, ma'am. I'll try to finish quickly." Sighing, Molson walked out of the office and into the carefully soundproofed band room. Just as she was about to set up the second row of chairs, Mrs. Donson called her back.

Donson was leaning casually back in her chair, eating a Crunch bar with her coffee cup in hand while Mozart's Symphony No. 40 played on the computer. She took a long sip from her drink and then turned to face Miss Molson. Smiling, she said, "You may call me Mrs. Donson."

"Yes, ma'am."


	11. Chapter Eleven

**--- Chapter Eleven ---**

Mr. Donson wiped the sweat off his brow. It was unusually hot in the kitchen, for a fall evening. But after a long day of working with complex numbers on Veterson's computer, his baked macaroni and cheese would be well worth the wait.

"Honey, can you bring me some aspirin? I'm not feeling real good tonight…"

"I think you mean to say that you're not feeling 'very well,' right dear? Ah, I love being a grammar teacher," Mr. Donson said as he laughed heartily.

"The medicine, pumpkin?"

"Ah, right, right. Hold on. My casserole will be done any minute now," Mr. Donson replied casually to his wife as he intently watched a cheerleading special on the television in the living room. "Did you see that? That girl just got her teeth knocked out!"

"Honey!" Mrs. Donson moaned again, lying on her back on the couch. "Please!"

Mr. Donson sighed, grabbing the bottle of aspirin and the television remote. "All right, dear." He promptly handed her the aspirin and began to channel surf. He found an episode of 'The Simpsons.' "Ah, here we go…" Mr. Donson began to sit down, but jumped right back up again as the timer on the oven started to beep obnoxiously.

"Honey, could you hand me my coffee cup on the table next to the big stack of band folders? I need some water."

"Yes, dear…" Mr. Donson was getting slightly worried about his baked macaroni and cheese in the oven. It was a very sensitive dish, according to the recipe. In a few more minutes, his extensively planned dinner might be ruined. He hurriedly dashed to the table, grabbed the coffee cup, and ran over to the couch to hand it to Mrs. Donson.

"Thank you, sweetie," Mrs. Donson managed to mumble before finishing off the contents of her coffee cup in a few feeble sips.

Mr. Donson, by this time, was already back to the oven. He opened the door hastily and reached for the glass casserole dish with his left hand. "Ouch!" he yelped, immediately releasing the dish and cradling his hand tenderly. He'd forgotten his oven mitt.

Refraining from shouting expletives, Mr. Donson ran his hand briefly under cold water before snatching an oven mitt for his right hand and pulling out his golden brown casserole. He took a step back to admire his work. "Perfect," he said, nodding approvingly. "What do you think, dear?"

He heard only the faint ticking of a clock and the muffled voice of Bart Simpson.

"Dear?" he asked again, turning off the oven and removing his oven mitt. Mr. Donson peered into the living room cautiously. He watched in horror as Mrs. Donson's eyes rolled back into her head and her coffee cup fell to the ground, almost as if in slow motion.

Mr. Donson heard a panicked shout, but was unaware that it was his own. He raced to the side of his wife, oblivious to the fact that his bare feet were stepping through deep puddles of dark water.

As the flashing lights headed up the street several minutes later, the casserole stood alone.


	12. Chapter Twelve

**--- Chapter Twelve ---**

"Wheee, oooh, wheee, oooh…"

Miss Molson glanced around from where she sat behind her steering wheel. Instinctively, she pulled over to make room for the approaching ambulance.

"Wheee, oooh, wheeEE, OOOH…"

As the large white vehicle passed by, a feeling of dread clutched Molson's heart…

"WHEEE, OOOH, WHEEee, oooh…"

Meanwhile…

"Wheee, oooh, wheee, oooh…"

As he walked out of the high school doors, Neller glanced up. He had let Donson go home early, as the stress of the code seemed to be getting to the poor English teacher. That, and he had eaten all the Peeps…

"Wheee, oooh, wheeEE, OOOH…"

Neller waited calmly as the ambulance passed by before he crossed the street. '_Poor soul,_' he thought vaguely as he watched the vehicle speed off into the distance.

"WHEEE, OOOH, WHEEee, oooh…"

Meanwhile…

"Wheee, oooh, wheee, oooh…"

Veterson blinked sleepily as he lay in the hospital bed. "What on earth…?" he muttered as he pulled the pillow over his head. "How's a guy supposed to get some sleep around here?"

Just then, he heard the sound of footsteps, plenty of them, dashing down the hall outside as the sound of the siren got louder and louder. "Wheee, oooh, wheeEE, OOOH…"

"What _is_ that?" Veterson wondered out loud. It sounded almost like the 'chaos' section from last year's marching show, the way the feet were thudding on the floor like hail on tubas. Oh, wait, there went another one of his bad analogies. Veterson shook his head. As long as he was lying here, he might as well figure out some better ones…

"WHEEE, OOOH, WHEEE, OOOH!"

At that moment, Veterson glanced through the door just in time to see a crowd of hospital staff pushing a rolling stretcher down the hallway, upon which was laid _MRS. DONSON._

"_OMIGOSH!"_ shrieked Veterson as he jumped upright, knocking over the IV, his side table, and dinner plates. Unfortunately, he was unable to gain his balance quickly enough and accidentally fell off the side of the bed.

"WHEEE, OOOH, WHEEee, oooh…" one of the staff yelled as they dashed down the hall.

Veterson gaped from where he lay on the floor. As the sound faded into the distance, he could vaguely hear the next room over, where they were watching "Star Wars"… Darth Vader's theme.

The saga had already begun.


End file.
